


I Lost My Dreams

by lethargicProfessor



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-06
Updated: 2014-04-06
Packaged: 2018-01-18 07:54:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1420441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lethargicProfessor/pseuds/lethargicProfessor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>hauntedlittledoll asked you:<br/>Angst War: What if it takes losing a sidekick of his own for Jason to reconcile with Bruce? Thank you.</p>
<p>For Goodluckdetective's Angst War</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Lost My Dreams

The mission had been a failure from the start. It wasn’t, not at first, or maybe it was, but he was just too stupid to see it.

Find Pyg and the Toad, get revenge, get home before dawn. It sounded simple on paper, not that they were overestimating either of their opponents. Sasha seemed excited, in a grim sort of way, eagerly describing what would happen after.

“We can go away from here,” she told him, clenching and unclenching her fists. “Leave Gotham and find something better.”

“Like what?” He had humored her, though he knew he wouldn’t be able to leave. Gotham was like a parasite – it was always going to be there, gnawing at his soul. No matter how far he left, it wouldn’t make a difference.

Sasha waved her hands at him, as if the details didn’t matter, smiling brightly. The scars left from the dollotron mask were fading slowly, but did nothing to dim the look on her face. “ _Anything_. That’s the point. We can do anything we want. What’s stopping us?”

* * *

 

Jason groaned softly as he slowly came to, blinking away the spots in his vision, struggling to focus.

His helmet was missing, but thankfully, the domino he usually wore underneath still appeared to be on his face. A muggy breeze brushed against his bare cheeks, carrying the smell of trash and water.

Slowly, his eyes adjusted to the darkness around him, forming boxy shapes in the gloom. So a warehouse, then, probably near the docks if the smell was anything to go by.

He was tied to a chair, the thick rope chafing against the skin on his wrists. The knots were tight, but sloppy: either it was done in a hurry or they just didn’t care. It took some effort, but eventually he slipped his wrists out. The rope on his legs followed soon after.

He kicked the chair away with more force than was really necessary, checking himself quickly. Most of his weapons were still on him, though his main guns had been taken away. Shrugging, he pulled a knife from his boot, looking around.

“Scarlet…?” He called out warily, watching for any movement from between the boxes. Nothing jumped out him, but Bat’s paranoia wouldn’t let him drop his guard just yet. “You here?”

The watery light that filtered through the dirty windows illuminated just enough of the stacks of boxes for him to maneuver without crashing into anything, though there were a few close calls as he made his way to the entrance.

Something was wrong. He could feel it in the air – it was too quiet, especially for Gotham. Whoever took them did an awful job at trying to stop him (didn’t even bother to search him for weapons) so obviously he wasn’t supposed to be a hostage. Sasha wasn’t around either, and there wasn’t any evidence of a scuffle in the warehouse. Maybe they had taken her somewhere else?

Anxiety gnawed at his gut as he kicked the front doors open, leading with his gun as he stepped outside.

He had expected an ambush, or guards, at the very least. Hell, knowing Toad and Pyg, he was surprised they weren’t waiting with an army of dollotrons.

It wasn’t an army. Just one dollotron, standing stock-still against a chain-link fence separating the warehouse lots. It didn’t move even as Jason approached it, but something about it was off. This was wrong, the entire situation reeked of _wrong_ but he couldn’t do anything more than walk up to the thing.

His heart hammered against his ribs as he reached it, squinting in the low light. It looked like all the other dollotrons, same red hair and blank stare…except…

Jason swore loudly, stumbling back, feeling the bile rise in his throat. Scarlet’s cape, _Sasha_ ’s cape, was pooled at the bottom of the dollotron’s feet along with her goggles and uniform. It could have been a message, a warning or a ransom or just a big ‘fuck you’ from Pyg, and maybe Sasha was still alright in another warehouse, just waiting for him to get his ass in gear to save her and bring her home and take her away from the rotten filth around Gotham.

But he knew as he sank down to his knees, that Sasha was gone. The dollotron stared at him, unmoving, as he heaved. 

* * *

 

The days after that were hazy at best; eventually Dick found him, leaning against the fence, holding Sasha’s body.

He felt disgusted with everything. A part of him wanted to hunt Pyg down and gut him like his namesake, but he knew it wouldn’t make him feel better. Sasha had been his responsibility. His partner, and it was his fault she was dead.

He vaguely recalled the blonde bat – Steph? Was that her name – prying Sasha away from him, saying something about cleaning her up to bury her.

Dick took them both back to the manor, of all places, citing the need to prepare Sasha, and that it’d be nice to give her a proper funeral, and that there was a nice plot by the oak tree that she would have liked. Jason tuned him out, raiding Bruce’s liquor cabinet before locking himself in a guest bedroom.

He alternated drinking like a fish and hurling it all back into the toilet, ignoring Dick’s attempts to get him out. He killed the girl. Alcohol poisoning was the very least he deserved.

* * *

 

Bruce found Jason slouched over the toilet bowl, cheek pressed against the cool porcelain, a death grip on a bottle of Jack. “Jason.”

The young man shifted, squinting in the dark at the broader figure, and let out a faint groan. “No.”

Bruce sighed, sitting on the floor beside him. “Jason, please…you’re going to kill yourself if you keep this up.” _Again_ hung in the air between them.

“Good.” His voice cracked, and his hold on the bottle of alcohol slipped as he jerked up to his knees, throwing up violently. Bruce reached over hesitantly, rubbing his back. Wheezing, Jason sat back slowly, batting his hands away. “ _Good_. I’m glad. Then I’ll be out of your way.”

“You don’t mean that.” Bruce watched him quietly, frowning. The girl’s death had obviously been traumatic for him, to say the least. It was surprising that he hadn’t gone after Pyg in cold blood; he had been expecting that instead of the binge drinking. It was different this time, though.

“I do.” Jason looked up at him slowly, eyes bloodshot. “She was my _partner_. It’s my _fault_ that _monster_ did that to her. I was supposed to protect her.”

_My partner, my soldier. My fault_. How long had it been since Bruce had told Alfred that? Felt the same paralyzing grief and anger?

“She wouldn’t blame you, Jason.”

Jason scoffed at Bruce, scrubbing at his eyes angrily. “What do you know?”

“I know you don’t blame me.” The younger man froze, but said nothing as Bruce continued. “Even though you should. Even if you say it wasn’t my fault, I feel like I let you down. If…that’s anything to go by, if Sasha was anything like you, then I’m sure she wouldn’t blame you either.”

“You couldn’t have done anything to help me,” Jason muttered, looking away. “I could have stopped them. I could have—“

“You could have made her stay home, or trained her better, or done any other insignificant thing different.” Bruce frowned. “There will always be ‘could haves’ and ‘should haves,’ Jason. Every time I thought about what happened to you, I ran through the list. I _know_. But that doesn’t change anything. She would have done it anyways, or followed you, or whatever else. You need to understand that what happened to her was…a horrible accident. But it wasn’t your fault.”

Jason looked down at his lap, hands shaking as he leaned over the toilet again to throw up. Bruce waited until he finished, carefully pulling the young man – the boy, really, because for all of his pomp, Jason would always be his boy – into his arms, hugging him tightly. His entire frame shook, and Jason dug his nails painfully into his back, but he held on, shoulders heaving in silent sobs.

Things were going to be hard, he knew. Jason would want revenge for Sasha someday, maybe soon. But for the time being, Bruce was going to be there for his son like he hadn’t been able to before.

 


End file.
